


Seraphic

by symphorophilia (klismaphilia)



Series: Xenotranspeciation [2]
Category: Alien (1979), Alien Series, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Interspecies Relationship(s), Mating, Mental Instability, Other, Power Dynamics, Xenophilia, and its because of me, wow guys i cant believe xenomorph/hux is a tag now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 09:03:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10214123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klismaphilia/pseuds/symphorophilia
Summary: His own body is opening up to the Xenomorph’s presence, reminding him of where he belongs-- never with the Order, never, not in thedyingvestiges of an unworthy empire... but here, at the side of the only being in the galaxy capable of taming Hux's ferocity.





	

**Seraphic**

 

Hux often found himself with a migraine these days. 

Even now, in the darkness of a shadowed bunker, turned in toward the wall beside his cot, his skull was throbbing, pulsing with an unending wave of electricity. The ebb and flow of static between the synapses of his hollowed-out skull were tethered like a string to his every thought, so  _ fantastical  _ it succeeded in stealing Hux’s breath even now. An omnipresent sensation, fire crawling underneath his skin. It erupted like a spark drawn along the frayed wire which made up the once-General’s nervous system-- and the sensation had never failed to relax his uneasy body, always tense and worn-down under the catastrophic weight of apparent failure. 

It had been, Hux considered, approximately five months since the decimation of everything he’d once held dear-- the cataclysm of an event in which his sole purpose for living had crumbled along with Starkiller Base. Even those momentary flashes of glowing orange light on the back of his eyelids could never dismiss the overall loathing Hux had come to understand so intimately; after all, he was  _ weak.  _

_ Weak,  _ just as his father had said. That was  _ fact, _ the common knowledge borne from human intuition, and all Armitage had to do to understand it was catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

Bloodshot eyes, swollen and brightly-scarlet, the sclera a mess of pinched nerves from his constant rubbing. His cheeks, too, were flecked with circles of black, bruised at the edges-- the contrast to the rest of his face, a ghostly white, dyed like some sort of force-phantasm, seemed enough of a testament to his illness.  _ Sickly,  _ and weak; good for absolutely nothing, wasn’t he?  _ Revolting, useless whelp, inadequate, clumsy. _

Armitage drew a palm across the hallow of his throat, ringed with green-and-yellow bruises over a week old; they still felt uncomfortable, though not quite sore to the touch.

He dug his fingers in, pinching the flesh taut between sharpened nails, trying to hold himself steady for as long as he possibly could. The authoritarian voice in his head counted for him, second after second--

_ onetwothreefour _

_ fifteensixteenseventeeneighteen _

Hux gasped, jerked himself away from the reflection of disappointment, clutching tight to his own downtrodden figure with limbs pulled close. Something sounds from in the distance; outside of the window, footsteps and a thud against his own wall;

_ back _

For a man whose career relied on his intellect, oration and organizational skill, Armitage Hux had grown exceptionally skilled at falling apart. The throbbing within his skull began to beat in time with his heart, with each thud and glare and menace as the presence drew closer, tugging him out from the confines of  _ order  _ as he quickly shed the few clothes remaining on his body; black underwear that clung to the subtle curve of his hips, doing little in the way of covering his lower body and a faded, grey shirt, long sleeved and now too big, hanging over his ribs like a curtain.

_          backtheycamebackforyou _

_ shhhhh _

_ quietsafeherewarmhere  _ _  
_ _                          dearhostdear _

_                                                     ... mate. _

_ “Come here,”  _ Hux beckons to the darkness. His tone would be unfamiliar to any who once knew him, and yet it feels  _ proper,  _ ringing with the emptiness and fragility that sings within his bloodstream.  _ “My Alien.” _

And the creature does, then, with all the grace a wretched monster could possibly muster. It emerges from the shadows like a wraith, deadly-sleek and outfitted with fine blades along its spine, stretching from its vertebrae down to the curve of its flicking tail. Its head, an elongated cranium bracketed in by the cool, obsidian armor of its carapace, seems to dip in response to Hux, and he  _ croons-- _ so beautiful, magnificent,  _ a weapon of unrivaled authority that longs for his presence!  _ Fantastical, divine, luminous--  _ his  _ weapon, his lover,  _ mine mine MINE. _

But then, the Xenomorph is not sentient. Not as he is, at the very least, and Hux finds himself having to question his own motives… whether it is merely his own riveting desire for companionship that makes him believe such a beast is capable of emotion. As though the Alien could feel sentiment, let alone for  _ him,  _ a worthless, irreverent Host.

Still, it does not deter him from stepping closer, excitement bubbling out from the decaying mass of his unbeating heart. Hux believes he could fall into a frenzy, with the way his body arches and slackens and  _ complies  _ to the Xenomorph’s whims as the creature curls one giant arm around his back, digs into the curve of his bony waist with pointed claws.

Hux  _ gasps _ .

His own body is opening up to the Xenomorph’s presence, reminding him of where he belongs-- never with the Order, never, not in the dying vestiges of an  _ unworthy  _ empire, but here, with the only being in the galaxy that is capable of taming him.  _ Xenomorph XX121,  _ they called it,  _ predatory lifeform, eusocial, parasitic-- _

_ Mine,  _ Hux decides, echoing his thoughts aloud as he leans forward to settle his head against the curve of the creature’s outer mouth. The Xenomorph does not make a move to devour him, and he knows better than to think so low of it; this Alien is a true gift, a real  _ mesmer  _ amongst the grey-and-black tombstones of the Unknown Regions.

_ whydoesitproject _

_ whydoesmatelingerhere, notourredemperor?  _

_ broodisgonenow? _

Hux nods, a simple motion, singular and respectful, curling into the hard shell of the Alien’s body. He should feel  _ hatred,  _ should be afraid, and yet he never is; he accepts this existence, accepts his failure, and yet he likely wouldn’t have without the Xenomorph’s discovery. The Alien is a  _ true  _ Diviner, it has saved him from his own ignorance and lacking capacity, his own sycophantic nature.

A spark reignites, and electricity floods Armitage’s head once more.

_ warmheresafehereoursours _ **_ours_ **

_ beautiful **HOST** receptivetoimpulsesclingstospinelikeneonate _

He laughs, then, bitter and careless. “Yes, I suppose I am, aren’t I?”

_ HOSTstilldoesnotfear?? _

“No. Never.” Hux mumbles, surging up to grasp the thing about its back, avoiding the razor-sharp protrusions in its armor. “You should never fear  _ power…” _

_ (Should never fear death.) _

As if on cue, Hux can feel the tremble along the back of his legs, the slackening in each knee, his limbs halfway to collapsing on themselves, bending and shifting into whatever submission  _ his  _ Alien needs. Slick lines his thighs, a viscous, oozing slime that coats the back of his legs and the line of his rim, desperate and  _ ready  _ for the Xenomorph to partake in coupling with him once more, should the creature desire it. He falls back against the floor, the wicked tail between his bare thighs, urging them apart, urging his back to arch and his skin to crawl once more, an uncomfortable tingling within his naked chest.

_ lovelyHOST opensoftsensitive giveyourselftous  _

_                                                                                                         giveYOURSELFtoME A r m i t a g e _

 

He feels something sharp prodding at the corner of his mouth, the same moment as that lovely, questing ovipositor positions itself between his legs, heavy against the underside of his filling cock.

_ matehaveme,  _ Hux thinks.

_ undo me iamlonging _

_ thereareeternallongingswithinme  _

_ myneedsareprimal myneedsare  _

_ d i v i n e   _

_ needthispower powerbindsmebinds  ... us  _

_                                      mateHAVEME _

And with the Xenomorph’s head at his shoulder, the Xenomorph’s regal, demanding figure  _ surrounding  _ Hux as he arches and splits and bows against the cold metal of the floor, it takes him, seizes him,  _ reshapes  _ him into something indefinitely seraphic _.  _ The omnipresent voices that press through each of his thoughts settle, rumbling with their mirth and their  _ joy  _ in each of Hux’s jilted movements, his own  _ desperation.  _

Without the Xenomorph, he feels deprived of something central to his being; his core hollowed-out, a void of endless chaos. In the here and now, he is allowed to rest, to  _ submit  _ and turn himself over to the primitive emotions that he once found trivial. 

Hux would do anything,  _ give  _ anything, for this monster of his. He would  _ blight  _ the galaxy once more with his inner pestilence, throw himself into ruin amongst whatever shards remained-- and none of it would cause him distress. 

For Armitage Hux has always been selfish, a man whose spirit brimmed with both hubris and insecurity alike. He loathes for the sake of loathing, destroys for the sake of his own reputation. But he does not _love,_ he does not _long,_ and he has never understood those who do. Yet to have the Xenomorph indulge his most _shameful_ fantasies makes him feel benevolent. 

**Author's Note:**

> more xenomorph/hux... i have an issue.
> 
> this is probably as fluffy as a spiteful, mass-murdering space general and a cannibalistic, parasitic space monster are capable of getting together, so. xenofluff for the win.


End file.
